


strange obsession (for my automatic weapon)

by dustofwarfare



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: BAMF!Prompto, Banter, Desperate Arousal, Dirty Talk, Dorks in Love, Established Relationship, Facials, Frottage, Grinding, Gunplay, M/M, Masturbation, Porn Without Plot, also is there such a thing as porn without plot but with backstory, but it's cute?, competency is sexy, competent!prompto, confident Prompto, desperate noct, even if it's not loaded, noctis has a competency kink, pwpbwb?, safe but don't do this with a gun, toppy prompto, unless bantering is considered plot?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-19
Updated: 2018-07-19
Packaged: 2019-06-12 17:23:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15344772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dustofwarfare/pseuds/dustofwarfare
Summary: “I like the way you touch them,” Noctis mumbles.“Lamps?”“Prompto,” Noctis says, making a noise halfway between a groan and a laugh. “The guns.” He puts a hand over his face. “I like the way you handle them. Okay?”“Huh,” says Prompto, and then, “huh.”(In which Noctis has a thing for Prompto handling his guns. He hopes Prompto doesn't notice.Prompto notices. And he isinto it. )





	strange obsession (for my automatic weapon)

**Author's Note:**

> Me: "I want to write some cute Promptis!" 
> 
> Also me: *writes gunplay* 
> 
> (BUT IT'S CUTE GUNPLAY, okay.)
> 
> Thanks as always to Marmolita for the beta! 
> 
> Title from the line of an unreleased Headstones song "Gun" which is like. Too perfect not to use. 
> 
> (This fic is not intended to be instructional in regard to any kink activity, FYI. Also there's nothing explicitly underaged in this fic, despite the first line, LOL.)

The first time it happens, Noctis is sixteen and they’re at the arcade.

Prompto is already there waiting, his school bag discarded at his feet, tie and jacket draped haphazardly over the top of the empty game cabinet next to them. He looks up from his phone and grins when he spots Noctis.

“Hey, buddy!” Prompto throws an arm around him the second Noctis is in range. “Thought maybe you couldn’t make it.”

Noctis gives an easy shrug. “Had to promise Iggy I’d get some reports done. No big deal.” He gives Prompto a shy smile, hyper-aware of the weight of Prompto’s arm around his shoulder. Prompto touches him with the sort of easy affection that no one, save Noctis’s dad, ever does.

Gladio touches him sometimes, a rough slap on the back or a tousle of his hair, but it’s always meant to show he’s done well in training. Ignis would hug him, Noctis is sure of it. But only if Noctis asks, because Ignis is very conscious of boundaries and never wants to overstep them. Even when they were kids, he was always careful to give Noctis his space -- especially back when Noctis was still recovering from his injury and didn’t always like to be touched.

Prompto is the first friend Noctis ever made on his own. That’s why, sometimes when Noctis finds himself thinking about how cute Prompto’s freckles are, or feels weird in his stomach when Prompto grins at him in a certain way -- _like he’s doing right now_ \-- he tells himself to knock it off. This is what it _means_ to have a friend. It’s just that this is all new. That’s all.  

But then they play whatever game it is, one of those first-person shooters that Prompto likes and has an unending amount of patience for (unlike literally every single class at school except for art), and Prompto wins like he always does. He grins all bright-eyed at Noctis and waves his controller around in glee. The controller is supposed to be a gun, but the only thing it shares with its namesake is its shape.

Still, when Prompto holds that piece of neon-green plastic up and _kisses_ the muzzle...Noctis thinks maybe what he’s feeling is a little more intense than _friendship_.

He thinks about it later that night, in bed, stroking himself beneath the covers and remembering Prompto pressing the tip of that toy gun to his mouth.

Yeah. Noctis thinks about that a lot. So much so that every time he sees that stupid game at the arcade, he has to hide an erection with his bag. But he’s not sure what to do about it, because having Prompto as a friend is so much more important than whatever these feelings are.

It’ll be fine.

***

When Noctis turns seventeen, he spends the day at a state celebration with his father, some visiting dignitaries and people he doesn’t much know or like. But the evening is all his, and his father dismisses him with a smile to go have fun with his friends.

Noctis, Prompto, Gladio and Ignis meet at his apartment and watch some dumb action movies, with a couple of low alcohol content drinks they’re allowed only because _Ignis_ has the keys to Noctis’s new car.

Gladio and Ignis leave after the second movie, and Prompto produces a bottle of Galahdian rum whose alcohol content is significantly higher, and the two of them settle in on the couch for an all-night video game marathon. At two in the morning, Noctis drags Prompto and the rum up to the roof of his building and rambles at him about being a prince and his dad and the Crystal and what it means to be the Chosen, tells him stuff he’s never told anyone about his mom and the daemon attack and a magic notebook in which he writes notes to a princess that are delivered by a dog.

At one point he takes Prompto’s face in his hands and says, earnestly, “Sometimes your eyes. They make me think of, like. The _sky_ ,” and Prompto laughs and kisses him.

For ten minutes being drunk is the best thing in the whole _world_ . Noctis feels invincible, _powerful_ , kissing Prompto like he knows exactly what he’s doing. At one point he lies down and pulls Prompto on top of him, emboldened by all these new feelings and sensations.

But then his stomach is twisting around like he’s warping even though he’s not, everything is _spinning_ and Noctis has to push Prompto away before he’s sick all over him.

“I really messed that up, huh,” Noctis says, pressing his clammy face into Prompto’s shoulder as he tries to take some deep breaths. Being drunk is maybe not as great as he thought it was.

“Nah,” Prompto chortles, slinging an arm around him. “You didn’t throw up while you were kissing me, so. We’re cool.”

Noctis spends the day _after_ his birthday miserable and hungover on the couch. But he’s got his head on Prompto’s lap and Prompto plays with his hair and takes dumb selfies and later, they try the whole kissing thing again -- sober, this time -- and it goes much better. The world still spins a little, but this time it’s in a good way.

Now his fantasies are less about Prompto putting his mouth on a toy gun and more about him putting it somewhere else. Then that actually happens, and the whole thing with the arcade gets forgotten amidst all the new, hotter things Noctis has to think about.

***

It’s not until Prompto joins the Crownsguard that it comes back up again.

“I mean, look at it,” Prompto says, eyes shining, gazing in rapture down at the handgun he’s been assigned as a new member of Noctis’s Crownsguard. “It’s _beautiful_.”

It looks like a handgun to Noctis. He’s grown up around people who use guns, _that_ model in particular, and he’s never once thought of them as anything close to beautiful. Prompto in his Crownsguard fatigues, though….

“Yeah. Looking good,” Noctis says, leaning back against the counter. His eyes run over Prompto in the pants and tight tank-top, showing off those lean muscles, the dark black fabric a nice contrast with his fair skin. Prompto’s hair is pushed off his face with a bandana he borrowed from Noctis on his way out of the door that morning, and it’s black with silver Lucian skulls.

Prompto’s borrowed his stuff before, from bandanas to shirts to underwear to a pair of dress slacks that Noctis doesn’t think he ever gave back. But he’s never been able to leave Noctis’s apartment in something with the royal Lucian crest on it, before. Now as a member of the Crownsguard, he can. And Noctis loves how Prompto looks in black, and he _especially_ loves how Prompto looks wearing the royal symbol, because it means Prompto is _his_.

Prompto grins over at him. “I know that look,” he teases brightly. “But you’re gonna have to wait, buddy. Me and my new gun have to spend some quality time together.”

And with that, Prompto picks up the gun and cradles it lovingly, cooing something dumb like _oh, sweetheart, where have you been all my life_ but that’s not really makes it suddenly very hard for Noctis to breathe. No, that’s the way Prompto strokes the barrel, his long, deft fingers caressing the slick black metal. He’s making kissy noises, too, and sure it’s supposed to be _funny_ but all Noctis sees is Prompto’s mouth and the gun and his _hands are all over it --_

Noctis’s pants are so tight that it’s suddenly uncomfortable. “You gotta. Um. Clean it.”

“Yup.” Prompto puts the gun down, and Noctis almost _whimpers._ “But I should probably shoot it first. Anyway, now I’m thinking about cleaning something else.” He wiggles his eyebrows.

Despite being so turned on, Noctis snorts. That’s sort of Prompto’s specialty, making him laugh when Noctis doesn’t think anything could. Well. Prompto’s got a lot of specialties, actually. He’s a talented guy. “You implying something around here is dirty?”

“Sure am.” Prompto sidles over, eyes sparking with heat and affection. “Your mind, buddy.”

“Ugh,” Noctis says, laughing. “How about your clothes. Your...you. Hit the showers, Argentum. And I’ll think about it.”

“How about you come with me!” Prompto grins and grabs for Noctis’s hand. He pulls him along to the shower, and Noctis notices there’s a smudge on his fingers, oil from the gun maybe, and tries not to feel bereft when Prompto washes it off before he gets a hand on Noctis’s dick.

But then Prompto does get a hold of his cock, and then it’s not his fingers but his mouth, and Noctis forgets about everything that isn’t this -- the two of them, the endless hot water, Prompto on his knees and his hair slick and wet between Noctis’s grasping fingers.

Later, though. He definitely thinks about the gun thing later _._

***

It’s a Friday night and Noctis is alone in his apartment, slouched on his couch and clicking idly through his laptop. He’s dressed in a t-shirt and sweatpants, all black, the air conditioning cranked up high to combat the sudden heatwave.

Once he’s sure that Ignis isn’t going to show up and try and dust anything, cook something or make him read a report, he navigates to a few choice, select bookmarks on a Moogle Incognito tab and settles in.

He’s never sure if the Citadel has people monitoring his Internet usage or what, but it’s not like a nineteen-year-old looking at porn is all that weird, even if he is the Crown Prince. Noctis goes to a few favorites, which he likes mostly because he watched them with Prompto, and feels a nice, warm buzz of arousal as the video starts to play.

Noctis slides his hand in his sweatpants to rub his palm over his hardening cock, eyes drifting shut. He likes hearing the soft little gasps and moans, and the occasional laugh -- one of the reasons why this video is a favorite is that the two guys are clearly into each other, but also having some _fun_ \-- and the sounds of _sex_ , sucking mouths and hands working over cocks.

And he thinks about Prompto’s hands, Prompto’s fingers, on the gun. Moving over the barrel, sliding up and down, up and down -- and his _mouth_ and oh, Gods --

He’s jerking himself off under his sweatpants, fast and hard. The laptop has fallen over onto the cushion but Noctis doesn’t care, his head is thrown back and he’s gasping up at the ceiling, already on edge just _thinking_ about Prompto and his gun.

Which, okay, yeah. It’s weird, and Noctis is pretty sure that it might be a _thing_ or mean something but at the moment, he’s not really in the right frame of mind to think about that. He’s only thinking about how hard he is, how close, how he doesn’t even need lube because he’s got so much precome that his cock is nice and slick in his hand.

Noctis keeps thinking about Prompto and the gun while the video plays on, and he comes all over his stomach and only barely remembers to shove his t-shirt out of the way in time so he doesn’t make a mess.

After that, when he’s cleaned up a bit and changed and moved to his bed, he grabs his laptop again. This time he does some searching for _guns_ , but that’s not very illuminating as it’s mostly just a mix of photographs and arguments on forums. He looks at the images, but the guns don’t really interest him unless he thinks about Prompto holding one of them.

He looks up _gun porn_ , which is a little more what he’s after but still not quite right. He doesn’t judge, since...well, he just got off thinking about Prompto licking his Crownsguard weapon. A lot of it just looks silly, and kind of staged, but even the stuff that should objectively be hot -- an attractive man or woman holding a gun similar to Prompto’s, licking it, and sometimes rubbing it over their equally attractive bodies, or someone else’s body -- isn't, because it's missing _Prompto._ That makes sense. He likes having sex with Prompto, even without firearms.

But he doesn’t think he’s into the idea of Prompto stroking or licking another weapon. Then again, Noctis can’t really imagine _anyone_ having a fetish for an auto-crossbow or a chainsaw, but...weirder things have happened, and he has the Internet search history to prove it.

***

One thing about Prompto, he takes _very_ good care of his guns.

Every night when they make camp, he settles on the ground and takes out his guns. He has two, now -- the Crownsguard handgun he was given when he enlisted, and the Calamity he’d picked up a few weeks ago at the Chocobo post.

(Guns and chocobos -- it was a miracle they’d ever gotten Prompto to _leave_ Wiz’s.)

Prompto cleans his guns with the same attention he gave to video games back in Insomnia. For as much as he often cracks a joke or two during tense situations -- like his quip when he snagged a shot of Noctis battling a spiracorn of, “Sure hope that shot doesn’t turn out to be _corny_ , amirite, haha!” -- he doesn’t do that when he’s cleaning his guns. He carefully takes each one apart and cleans them, oils them until they’re gleaming, checks the ammo and makes sure nothing is clogged or caught before he sends them back to the Armiger.

Sometimes he’ll toss out a word or two, or maybe a casual smile, but that’s about it. Noctis always watches what Prompto is doing, even though it’s hard to really focus since Ignis is usually making dinner and Gladio is telling him all the things he did wrong in battle that he could do better. Which is exactly the same thing Gladio always did after training back home in Insomnia, so it would be comforting if Noctis were paying attention.

Except when it gets in the way of Noctis watching Prompto slide those long fingers of his around gun parts and mysterious cleaning implements, or -- and gods, this is the best part and the worst -- watching him oil the guns, fingers all slick and shiny from the excess. He uses a rag and when he’s done, he always holds the gun up to the dying sunlight or the camp lantern Gladio’s affixed to one of the tent poles for the light. And then he gets this satisfied little smile on his face that drives Noctis _crazy._

 _Kiss it,_ Noctis thinks from his spot on the camp chair, where he’s lounging and sort of pretending to doze so that he can watch.

By the time Prompto sends the guns back to the Armiger, Noctis is almost panting. He’s pretty sure there’s a wet spot on his underwear, in danger of staining his cargo pants. He plays it cool until Ignis and Gladio are distracted, then he mutters something about “be right back” and drags Prompto away from camp. They have about thirty minutes of sunlight left, probably -- thank the Astrals they decided to make camp early today -- and Noctis doesn’t intend to waste it.

“Being a little obvious, aren’t you, buddy?” Prompto asks, but he’s grinning slyly when Noctis practically shoves him up against a rock and kisses him. He kisses back, hands settling low on Noctis’s hips, and he makes a pleased sound when he feels Noctis’s hard cock pressing eagerly against his. “What got you so ready to go?”

Noctis almost, _almost_ tells him. But instead, he slides to his knees and runs his hands up Prompto’s thighs, aims a smirk up at him and says, “Guess I just can’t help myself.”

Prompto opens his mouth, Noctis opens Prompto’s pants, and whatever Prompto’s going to say turns into a moan when Noctis takes Prompto’s cock in his mouth and sucks it deep.

****

The sun is beating down mercilessly as Noctis stands beside Prompto, who is currently involved in trying to tease Noctis to death. Without even knowing he’s doing it.

The weapons dealer has two different revolver models on the table, and he’s a lot more patient with Prompto’s indecision than Noctis is. He doesn’t seem to care that Prompto is literally taking _an age_ to decide which one he wants to purchase, which involves a lot of...handling the guns. And examining them. And _touching_ them.

“The Valiant absorbs elemental magic, but the Rebellion has a higher percentage of landing a critical shot,” Prompto says thoughtfully. “And, like. I can totally see the benefits of both, y’know?”

Noctis hears _words, words, more words, and other words._ Prompto is turning the Rebellion over, and he’s -- gods, he’s _caressing_ it. Smiling, with this little look on his face like it’s the most amazing thing he’s ever held in his hand. Noctis is turned on and low-key jealous, because he wants to be the thing in Prompto’s hand that he’s stroking, one very specific part of him, and yet...he also wants to sort of pull out his phone and shoot a video.

“Hmm. Noct, you know about guns,” Prompto says, turning to him. He’s holding both in his hands. “Which one do you think I should get?”

“Just -- get both of them,” Noctis says a little desperately, pulling some gil out of the Armiger and hastily handing it over.

“Yeah, haha, I guess I _am_ asking the guy who has like, thirty-seven swords,” Prompto jokes.

The weapons guy is giving Prompto a weird look, glancing between him and Noctis. “Thirty-seven swords?”

“He’s exaggerating,” Noctis says, giving Prompto a _look_. “Seriously. Prompto. Get both of them.”

Prompto offers to sell the Calamity to offset the price, but Noctis refuses and that’s that. They pick up a few other things and head back to the blessed air conditioning of the Leville. A few lucrative hunts paid for both the new guns and their own room, for which Noctis is exceedingly grateful. He immediately cranks up the air conditioning as high as it will go, then throws his outer jacket on a chair and starfishes down on one of the beds.  

“Aw,” Prompto says, and Noctis feels the bed dip as he sits on the edge. “I should take a picture. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you take a nap before.”

“Ha, ha.” Noctis smiles without opening his eyes. “I’m just trying to cool off. It’s too hot to blink.”

“Uh-huh,” says Prompto. “Sure.”

Noctis flips him off without looking. He’s not going to fall asleep. He needs to cool down -- and not just because of the heat. 

He totally falls asleep.

***

When Noctis wakes up, the room is just on the right side of cold and the sun is casting golden shadows against the teal curtains. Noctis shifts on the bed, then realizes that someone’s pulled off his boots.

He would maybe realize that he’s hungry, too, but then he sees Prompto.

Prompto’s always been too full of restless energy to be a napper; the few times he’d tried to take a nap with Noctis in Insomnia, he’d be quiet for a few minutes before either squirming around like he was covered in ants, or asking Noctis things like, “How did the universe get here, though?” or, “Seriously, what _did_ come first - the chocobo or the egg?”

He’s stripped down to his favorite pair of cuffed jeans and a simple white tank undershirt, hair pushed back with one of his bandanas. He’s barefoot, sitting cross-legged on the edge of the bed, and all four of his guns are laid out in front of him.

He’s picking each one up, looking at it, humming to himself. Feeling Noctis’s eyes on him, he looks over with a fond smile. “Yeah. Totally not napping.” He mimics yawning.  

Noctis pushes up on his elbows and blinks the sleep out of his eyes. He tries to look at Prompto’s face, not his hands on the coverlet, so close to the guns. “What are you doing?”

“So yeah, having a bunch of guns is great and all, but unlike _some_ people with their thirty-seven swords, mine don’t do the whole...” Prompto twirls his finger around. “Swirly thing. Wait. Do they?” He looks briefly excited. “They don’t, right?”

“Nah. Pretty sure that’s just me. Or else Iggy’d have his cooking knives circling while he made dinner.” Noctis’s eyes settle on the gun in Prompto’s hand. His mouth is a little dry.

“Oh, man, he would, huh? But, see, that means I need to figure out which gun I like the best. My go-to, y’know. And the runner-up. Because stuff happens so fast in battle, right, so I need to have them in order.”

Noctis is still staring at the way Prompto is absently rubbing a thumb over the hammer of the gun he’s holding. He tries to make his voice sound casual. “So which one do you like the best?”

“So glad you asked!” Prompto beams at him and lifts his old Crownsguard weapon. “The handgun is like, y’know. Memories! And I’ve used it a bunch, so I can reload it with my eyes closed. But I’ve got way better options.” He puts the gun down and pats it. “No offense, beautiful. You’ll do in a pinch.”

Noctis shifts. He’s feeling both charmed and turned-on by Prompto talking to his guns like they’re chocobos, which, he supposes, is probably weird.

Prompto picks up the next gun. “So then there’s the Calamity, which I love, but uh. I kinda, maybe, accidentally poisoned Gladio like three times when we were fighting in that tomb.”

“Which tomb?” Noctis asks, distracted for a minute by this information.

“Oh! Ha, ha.” Prompto scrunches up his face and smiles. “Maybe all of them? But I hit the targets so like, that’s really what matters. And Gladio’s tough. He can take it. Besides, I’ve gotten _real_ fast at getting those antidotes out of the Armiger. And throwing with my left hand.” He waves a hand. “So, yeah. This one’s good for open areas, but maybe not in a crowd.”

He sets the Calamity down, then picks up the Valiant. “This one is the obvious choice if there’s a bunch of daemons with elemental attacks, so probably this baby is my number one night-time choice. Not that we wander around a lot at night.” He holds up the gun to show Noctis. “I love that this one’s made in Insomnia, though. Little piece of home out there in the big, wide world. That I can _kick ass_ with.” He closes one eye, points the gun across the room and mimics shooting it.

Noctis draws in a sharp breath. Prompto mistakes the reason and says quickly, “Hey, don’t worry, buddy. It’s not loaded. I always make sure before I clean them.” He pops the cylinder out to the side, turns the gun toward Noctis and gives the cylinder a spin to show off that the chambers are empty. “See?”

“Uh-huh,” Noctis says, eyes wide, as Prompto idly rubs his thumb over a few of the empty bullet chambers. “So you’re sure they’re all unloaded?”

“Yeah, but if you’re being Prince Paranoid, I’ll oblige you.” Prompto smiles and picks up the old Crownsguard handgun, the Calamity, and then the Rebellion in turn. All of them are side-loaded revolvers like the Valiant, so he does the little spin with the cylinder to show that every chamber is empty. “You okay, Noct?” Prompto blinks at him. “Your face is kinda flushed. Dude, you can throw literal _lightning_ at people. You have three-hundred fifty-nine swords swirling around you that _glow,_ which you keep in the ether between the worlds or whatever.”

“Thanks for the stats rundown,” says Noctis.

“Just meant that it’s kinda weird if _you’re_ freaked out by guns.” Prompto makes a face, the sad one that he sometimes makes when Ignis says there’s no more green curry, or when Prompto has no more chocobo greens in his pocket. Come to think of it, it’s pretty similar to the look the _chocobo_ has when that happens, too. “It’s not because it’s me, is it? I mean, the thing about poisoning Gladio is that it wouldn’t happen so much if he didn’t always take that Shield thing so literally and throw himself in front of people.”

It _is_ Prompto and the gun, but not because of the reason he thinks. Noctis definitely doesn’t want Prompto to have the wrong idea -- or that sad chocobo look. “No, you’re great with guns. And you know. You’ve never poisoned _me_.”

“Er,” says Prompto, then smiles brightly. “Never say never, buddy. But yeah. Okay. Good. I like guns. It’s like, my thing, you know?”

Oh, Noctis definitely knows. “Yeah.”

“So, finally, there’s this beauty.” He picks up the Rebellion. “I love the design. Pretty cool, right?” He runs his fingers over the etching. “It’s not like it has to be super fancy or anything, but hey, your swords have it, right?”

Noctis shifts, bites his lip, and tries to sound unaffected. He casually lifts one leg to prop his foot on the mattress and hide his growing arousal. “Uh. Right. Sure.”

“And with the Valiant, it’s way more likely that I can land a critical killshot. That’s the goal, you know? Get in, get out. Fast and hard and lethal.” Prompto does the mimic-shooting thing again, for multiple targets this time. With little sound-effects. “Especially since I’m getting so much better with my aim. Really, I want to use this all the time and maybe even at night -- Noct?”

“Yeah?” Noctis is staring at Prompto’s hand, curled loosely around the grip, his thumb rubbing over the trigger guard.

“I -- wait, is this turning you on?”

Noctis’s face heats and he pulls his gaze away from Prompto’s hand with effort. The second he meets Prompto’s bright eyes, he flushes a little. “Whatever. Maybe. So?”

“Just, huh. What a weird thing to get you going. Not complaining, but...is this a new thing?”

“You just look really competent,” Noctis mumbles. That’s not it at all, even though, okay, Prompto _is_ a good marksman, has definitely gotten better -- poisoning Gladio aside -- and sure, that’s also attractive. It’s just not quite as visceral as watching Prompto handle the gun.

“We’re in a hotel room. There’s no monsters, bad guys or daemons, and the guns aren’t loaded,” Prompto says. He taps the edge of the barrel against his other hand. “Talcott would be competent in this situation, Noct. That _lamp_ is competent.”

“I like the way you touch them,” Noctis mumbles.

“Lamps?”

“Prompto,” Noctis says, making a noise halfway between a groan and a laugh. “The _guns_.” He puts a hand over his face. “I like the way you handle them. Okay?”

“Huh,” says Prompto, and then, “huh.”

Noctis drops his hand. Prompto has the same look on his face he did the day he figured out that being in the Crownsguard meant he got an active military service personnel discount at the movie theatre.

“So _that’s_ what’s up with all those post-gun-cleaning blowjobs! Man, I was starting to wonder about that. If like, gun oil got you hot. Or, dunno. The sunset.”

“Not the gun oil, and the sun setting means we have to rush,” Noctis reminds him. He still feels...silly, and he’s not sure why. There’s a lot of stuff that Prompto does that turns him on, and he doesn’t have a problem admitting any of that. He doesn’t know why this thing with the guns is different, but it is.  

“So you get all hot and bothered watching me play with my guns,” says Prompto, as if it needs reiterating. He holds up one of his arms and flexes, then strokes his admittedly impressive biceps with two fingers. “How about _these_ guns? Is this doing it for you, Noct?”

“It’s doing something for me,” Noctis agrees. “Like making me examine my life choices.”

“Oh, ouch!” Prompto laughs. He picks up the Rebellion and looks at Noctis. “I’m dying to know how long this has been going on.”

“I’m not dying to tell you,” Noctis says, but he knows his voice has changed the minute Prompto picked that gun up; going from husky and teasing to husky and aroused.

“Mm hmm.” Prompto’s smile is slow and wicked, and he moves with his usual quickness to straddle Noctis on the bed, the gun still in his hand. He pops out the cylinder again, spinning it to check the chambers even though he just did it a few seconds ago. “Better safe than sorry. Can’t take my chances with my king. Gladio’ll do me in for treason.”

Noctis can’t quite make himself look away from the gun in Prompto’s hand. Or say anything that isn’t a slow exhale of breath, accompanied by a restless shift of his hips beneath Prompto’s weight.

“Soooo,” Prompto drawls, and starts running the fingers of his left hand up and down the barrel. “About when this started. Was it before or after we left Insomnia?”

Transfixed, Noctis sucks in a sharp breath. Prompto shifts on top of him and makes a delighted sound, stroking the barrel of his Rebellion with two fingers, like he does sometimes to Noctis’s cock when he wants to get him all worked up. “Before.”

“Noct, this is totally unexpected and awesome,” Prompto says, with his usual exuberant honesty. He has his moments of shy awkwardness but strangely it’s never been when it comes to sex. The first time Noctis sucked him off, Prompto spent the whole time babbling things like _oh my Gods your tongue is amazing_ and _if you could maybe use some teeth, not a lot but like - okay, too much, no, that’s -- yeah, oh wow, that’s perfect, goddamn, Noct, I can’t wait to try this on you, too._

Thinking about blowjobs must somehow show on Noctis’s face, because Prompto raises the gun and puts it in front of his mouth. “Noct,” he says, almost in a sing-song. “Tell me when it started.”

Prompto also has this offhand way of being sort of bossy that has always, always done it for Noctis. Probably because, since he grew up a commoner and has always treated Noctis like more of a friend than a Crown Prince, he never learned to default to deference like so many others. Whatever the reason, Noctis likes it -- especially in bed -- and he shifts beneath Prompto, breath catching at how close that barrel is to Prompto’s slyly grinning mouth.

“Guess I forgot,” Noctis says, a blatant lie, his hips pushing up slightly.

“Uh-huh.” Prompto runs the edge of the muzzle over his own cheek, getting closer to his mouth. “C’mon, Noct. ‘Fess up when you got the gun fetish.”

“It’s not guns,” Noctis says, too aroused by what he’s seeing -- and by the slow, steady grind of Prompto’s hips on top of him -- to pay much attention to what he’s saying. “It’s _you_ with guns.”

“Man.” Prompto looks so very smug. “I thought it was kinda weird how I get a boner whenever your Armiger is swirling around, but now I don’t feel so bad.”

Noctis makes a face at him, then says, “Could you just….”

“Could I just, what? Huh?” Prompto taps the muzzle against his lower lip, like he’s mimicking doing the same sort of gesture with his finger. Like Iggy sometimes does when he’s thinking. “Gosh. Wonder what it is?”

“Prompto,” Noctis groans. “Come _on_.”

“Nope. I will give you the hottest Prompto-gun-show of your life, buddy, but first? I wanna hear when this started. Out with it.” Prompto pulls the gun away, moving the muzzle of the barrel a few inches from his mouth, then winks and blows like he’s putting out a candle on a cake.

Noctis’s hips buck up, hard, seeking friction. He mutters under his breath and bangs his head back against the pillow. “Fine. _Fine_. We were sixteen and we were at the arcade. You beat me in some stupid FPS --”

“Gonna have to be more specific.” Prompto bats his eyelashes. “I beat you at all of them.”

Noctis narrows his eyes, but the effect is probably ruined by how he’s so hard there’s a wet spot on his pants and he’s restlessly trying to grind up against Prompto. “This one had a stupid green plastic gun. We weren’t even -- we’d never even kissed, yet.”

“Oh! _Silent Scope: Alien Rampage._ I remember that one. I was _great_ at it. I had the top score until like, four months ago. _Still_.”

“Yeah. And you uh. You kissed the top of your gun, and I don’t know, okay, I just went home and got off thinking about it and it was _weird._  I forgot all about it until you got your gun when you joined my Crownsguard.” What a nice ceiling this place has. Great water marks. Is that mold? Noctis is breathing hard, honestly impressed with himself that he managed to say all of that. Most of his attention is on his cock, and his cock is desperately trying to pay attention to Prompto, his hands, and the guns.

“Aha! I thought that was just seeing me in that uniform,” says Prompto.

“Well, yeah. Look, you turn me on a lot, okay?” Noctis realizes he could probably say that without sounding _quite_ so cranky. “The gun thing, it’s just...I don’t know.”

Prompto smiles, then touches the muzzle to his mouth and kisses it.

Noctis _moans._

Prompto then _sucks on the muzzle,_ and Noctis moans _louder,_ and his hips push up harder so he’s grinding against Prompto’s also-hard cock. Well, thank the Astrals he’s not the only one into this.

“You -- like doing that?” Noctis asks, his voice all wrecked. He reaches one hand up to brush his bangs out of his face. His fingers are trembling.

“Well, I -- honestly? I like my guns, more ‘cause of what they mean. I like that I’m good at something, and that I’m good at doing something _for you_ . Keeping you safe. And being a badass. That’s pretty great. But mostly, buddy? I just _really_ like how you look right now. Wow. I’d take a picture, but I think you might beat me up if I put this gun down.”

Prompto licks the muzzle again, then makes a face. “Gun oil. They don’t make it flavored like they do with lube.” He laughs, all wicked and low. “How’s _that_ for a new recipe, Ignis!”  

“Shut up.” Noctis reaches up, grabs him by the back of the neck, and pulls him down to kiss him. He can’t really taste the gun oil, but the thought that Prompto just did - yeah, fuck, that makes his cock ache and twitch in his pants. He has to slide a hand down to rub himself through the fabric of his pants, just to take off the edge. His moan gets lost somewhere in Prompto’s mouth.

Eventually Prompto pulls away and settles his weight again. He then does a complicated sort of backbend thing, three times, until every single one of the guns are arranged around the two of them.

Prompto smirks down at him. “My sex Armiger,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows.

“You’re such a dork,” Noctis says, fondly. “Sex Armiger.” He snorts.

“Hey, Noct, watch this,” Prompto says cheerfully, then starts -- _fisting_ the barrel of his Crownsguard handgun. It should look ridiculous. Maybe Prompto meant it to look ridiculous, but then again, maybe not.

Noctis is pushing up against Prompto, nearly panting while he watches.

“I could tell you all about the guns,” Prompto says, fingers rubbing over the barrel, teasing at the muzzle, then sliding down to stroke the cylinder and the trigger guard. He rubs it against his cheek, his mouth, tilts his head up and drags the muzzle down his throat and lower, over the jut of his collarbones. He smiles. “But I bet you wouldn’t remember a thing I said, huh.”

“Nope,” Noctis manages, and it’s hard to breathe. His cock is so hard it’s throbbing, and he’s squirming beneath Prompto, who really needs to start moving or something because Noctis is dying, here.

“And it doesn’t even matter that it’s not loaded?” Prompto asks, and oh, Gods, now he’s teasing at his _nipple_ with the muzzle through his shirt.

All Noctis can do is shake his head. He’s gripping hard at Prompto’s hips, trying to drag his hips forward, so fucking hard and aching for some friction.

“Huh. Okay, then. Wow. _Wow_ , Noct. This is like. A present. And it’s not even my birthday.” Prompto stills, then gives Noctis this _grin_ and oh, Noctis knows that grin. It’s the smile he gave Noctis on Noctis’s seventeenth birthday, when he produced that bottle of rum they should have never had. The same one he’d given Noctis after Noctis kissed him, drunk and fumbling with the words _I like you_.

The one he’d given him from his knees, the first time he’d taken Noctis’s cock in his mouth. _Seriously, dude, do you know how much porn I’ve watched? I’ve trained for this. Get ready for me to blow your mind_ and _your dick, dude._

Prompto lowers the gun, and starts tracing his very obvious erection with the tip of the muzzle. “Mmm. Not as good as your hand, but the way you look right now.” He drags the muzzle up, then down, and Noctis can _see_ Prompto’s cock getting harder, pressing against the tight denim. Noctis swears his vision goes hazy and figures it’s because he’s stopped breathing. His ears are buzzing. The Crystal could fall through the ceiling and he doesn’t think he’d be able to look away.

“Wow,” Prompto says, which Noctis only hears because he sets the handgun aside. “Who knew you were such a slut for a Crownsguard with a gun? What would the Marshal say if he knew?”

“Not any Crownsguard. Just you.” Noctis reaches out and grabs Prompto by his tank top. His face is damp with sweat, and the sound of his breathing is loud in the quiet room. He can feel his toes curling into the blankets beneath his feet, muscles tense and straining.

Prompto picks up the Rebellion, shifting on Noctis’s lap and grinding with purpose. “Gods. You look so hot right now. You’re like. Half a second away from coming in your pants just ‘cause I’m on top of you with a gun. Aren’t you?”

Noctis follows his motions, watching him start to stroke and play with the gun again. “Yeah.” It seems pretty pointless to argue. Prompto knows what Noctis looks like when he’s close, of course he can recognize the signs. Even if they were seventeen the last time Noctis came in his pants.

“Damn, Noct.” Prompto winks at him, kissing the muzzle like he did that day years ago in the arcade. It’s a fond memory, but Noctis is pretty sure it’s not going to have _anything_ on this one. “So, does it do anything for you if you I touch _you_ with the gun?” He carefully traces the curve of Noctis’s cheek with the muzzle, which is a little wet from Prompto’s mouth.

It doesn’t do much for Noctis -- no more than having an up-close-and-personal view of Prompto’s hand, that is. “It’s not bad or anything.” That’s about all he has the brain power to manage.

“Not the same, though?” Prompto pulls his tank top off. His body is all muscle, even more so now than before they left Insomnia. He traces the muzzle against the v-cut of his hip, and laughs when Noctis makes a sound he normally doesn’t make unless he’s coming. “Yeah. Not the same. It’s okay. I definitely like showing off for you. Did you know that? That’s a thing of mine.”

Maybe he noticed that? Noctis has no idea, he’s going to have to think about it later.

“You’d totally come if I took my pants off and stroked my cock with this, huh,” Prompto says, grinning. His face is flushed, eyes blurry, and his hips are grinding harder, a little faster, against Noctis’s aching erection. “I would, but. Not gonna lie, buddy, I’m in too much of a hurry to make you come in your pants to bother taking mine off.” He puts the muzzle beneath Noctis’s chin and presses, just to bring Noctis’s attention back to his face. “That cool?”

“Sure,” Noctis says. His hands are on Prompto’s hips, and he’s dragging Prompto down against him as he pushes up. “Don’t stop.” He’s not talking about the grinding, and they both know it.

“Fuck,” Prompto says, his smile fading a bit, expression going all intense and serious. “Gonna be...real hard...to clean these. Knowing how much you like watching me touch them. I’ll get my fingers all slick with oil, how’s that? Won’t even use the rag.” He mimics that, fingers gliding up and down the barrel. “Then I could get you off with my fingers all dirty --”

That’s it. That’s enough. Noctis feels his blood rush and his back arch, and he comes with a loud noise right there beneath Prompto, with nothing but Prompto’s words, the pressure of his cock and the sight of his hand gliding over the gun. It’s an intense orgasm, and it seems to last a long time -- he doesn’t even care that he’s pulsing hot in his pants.  In fact, something about it makes this even _better._

When it’s over he falls back on the bed, gasping for breath. He blinks up at Prompto, who is still rocking on top of him, biting his lip,his fair skin flushed and hot. “Gods, Noct. That was so fucking hot, you look - the way you look right now.” He leans down and kisses him, even though Noctis hasn’t quite gotten his breathing under control quite yet.

He leans back, boneless and still shaking a little from his orgasm, as Prompto raises up on his knees and gets his pants open. Prompto throws his head back, gasping as he strokes his own cock, which is hard and already wet with precome. It’s as hot as watching him play with his gun, just in a different sort of way.

Noctis can’t really speak, because he’s still coming down from his high and he doesn’t think Prompto really needs him to say anything anyway. Prompto is saying things like _gods, you look hot_ and _gonna come on your pretty face, Noct,_ and all Noctis can do is sort of pant and stare up at Prompto, biting his lower lip and running his hands up and down Prompto’s sides until he comes.

Which he does with a choked-out warning, so that Noctis can close his eyes and tip his face up. He feels Prompto come on his face, warm and wet, moaning loudly as he does it.

Prompto’s weight vanishes and he’s suddenly wiping Noctis’s face with what Noctis is pretty sure is his tank top, and then he sort of sprawls next to Noctis and the two of them lay there in post-orgasm bliss for a bit. Eventually Prompto moves to return the guns to the Armiger and tugs at Noctis’s hand as he swings his legs over the bed.

“C’mon, dude,” he says. “You’re like, seriously sticky.”

“M’tired,” Noctis whines, but he lets Prompto pull him up because okay, yeah, he _is_ seriously sticky. They make their way to the bathroom, discarding clothing amidst some lazy kissing, and climb into the shower.

There, Noctis leans back against the tiled wall and crosses his arms over his chest, dark hair wet and hanging in his face as he assures Prompto that, no, the sight of Prompto running his fingers down a shampoo bottle, the conditioner, the body wash and the _bath loofah_ does not make him hot and bothered in the slightest.

The water running down Prompto’s naked body is another story. But Noctis figures he’s stroked Prompto’s ego enough for one night.

He has a feeling Prompto is going to get some good mileage out of this whole gun-fetish thing, which is fine. Noctis does like flashing the Armiger around for the same reason, so he guesses he has it coming -- pun intended.  

They make their way back to the bedroom, dress in fresh clothes and kick off the hotel comforter. Then they're tangled together under the sheets, in a hotel room that’s familiar only because they’ve stayed here a time or two already.  Lestallum’s lights are caught and held by the draperies over the windows, and the sheets are scratchy with that feeling of having been bleached one too many times. Prompto’s draped over him like a warm, muscled octopus, all clinging limbs and damp hair that smells like generic shampoo.

Nothing’s been the same since Noctis woke up in that hotel in Galdin Quay, thinking he was on his way to his wedding and believing his father still strong on his throne in Insomnia. But there have been moments carved out of the uncertainty that he cherishes, and this is one of them.

Which might be why, when Prompto says quietly, “So how come you didn’t tell me about this whole gun thing, before? Dude. I would have done that, like, any time you wanted,” Noctis doesn’t pretend to be asleep and instead gives him an actual answer.

“I - it’s weird,” he says, at length. Talking about his feelings is not Noctis’s strong suit. “You know I think you’re hot.”

“Duh, look at me,” says Prompto, breathing out a warm laugh against Noctis’s shoulder. “Who wouldn’t?”

Noctis punches him lightly for that. “I guess it’s like. You’re not a gunman. I mean, you are, but...you’re my boyfriend. My best friend, before that. And you joined the Crownsguard because of me, right? If you weren’t here, if -- if nothing had happened in Insomnia --”

“Hey,” Prompto says, when Noctis falls silent. He lifts his head, and Noctis can see his face in the dark; eyebrows drawn together in concern, strands of hair falling forward over his eyes. “It’s cool. You don’t really have to talk about it, if you don’t want.”

“Nah, I already started, so.” Noctis drags his fingers through Prompto’s hair, then down his back, over his shoulders. “I didn’t tell you because I don’t want you think I get hot thinking about you killing for me. Or putting yourself in danger. Or that I only wanted you ‘cause you do that stuff. For me. And your gun is like, your Crownsguard weapon. A symbol. Of that.”  

“Yeah. I get that,” Prompto says. “Totally.” He kisses gently at Noctis’s shoulder. “I don’t think that, you know. I know you don’t get off on anyone killing for you, and dude. Remember that first hunt outside of Hammerhead? I swear you spent more time watching me and pulling potions out of your Armiger than using all that training of yours.”

“Nah. It was weird for me, too. Training is one thing. Actually murdering things? Totally different.” Noctis sighs, staring up at the dark ceiling for another long moment. “You’re not just my Crownsguard. And I like you ‘cause you’re...you. The you that takes pictures, and squeaks like a ten year old girl over chocobos and baby animals and -- don’t you dare pretend like you didn’t think that tonberry was cute the other day, because you totally did. I saw you trying to give it leftovers by throwing them over the haven runes.”

“I mean, their little knives!” says Prompto, voice rising to an octave entirely unsuited for either the indoors _or_ the late hour. “Ugh. Cutest grudges _ever_ . I don’t think they’re really daemons. I think they’re pets. _Pets of the night._ ”

Noctis doesn’t know what to _do_ with him, sometimes. _Pets of the night._ Honestly.

“Is that it? Really?” Prompto peers at him, then pokes his shoulder with a finger. “Because I feel like it isn’t.”

“Okay, fine, maybe it was just a little weird, the whole turned on by a gun thing. Maybe I was kinda embarrassed.” Noctis makes a face. “I don’t wanna watch Gladio lick his broadsword or Iggy make out with his daggers.”

“Really? I mean. Theoretically speaking, I’m not _opposed_ to that idea,” Prompto says, his eyes very wide in the dark. “But Iggy wouldn’t do that until he’d like, disinfected them first.”

Noctis gives a soft laugh at that. “Yeah. Anyway. It’s not like you don’t do other hot stuff. Even if you’re mostly ridiculous.”

“Ha! I love you, too, buddy,” Prompto says, kissing him on the mouth. “But you know I am never, ever letting this go.”

Noctis doesn’t even bother responding. He knows that, too. “The least you could do is tell me some weird thing you’re into.”

“Besides you?”

Noctis snorts and tugs at Prompto’s hair. It’s funny how long it is, when he’s not wearing any styling product in it. “Come on. One weird thing.”

“Fine, okay,” Prompto mutters, and presses his face to Noctis’s shoulder. Noctis is immediately intrigued, because Prompto is usually pretty open about sex so this must be something good. “You -- you won’t laugh?”

“Who just got off watching you rub a gun all over yourself?” Even _saying_ it, thinking about it...yeah. Suddenly Noctis isn’t so tired anymore. He clears his throat. “Pretty good chance I won’t.”

Prompto lifts his head. “You know those like...ads for games that show up, when you’re looking at porn videos? The ones that are like, _don’t jerk off until you’ve seen this game, I came six times!”_

“Um,” says Noctis, trying to imagine if he’s seen this before or not. “Yes?”

“They’re like, CGI games or whatever. Gods, this is so embarrassing, but...there’s monsters? And they’re fucking, like, CGI people.” Prompto clears his throat. “So maybe I didn’t come six times in a row -- uh, I assume that meant six times in a row -- but, uh. Yeah. Every now and then I play one of those.”

Noctis grins. Yeah, that’s definitely weird. “Really?”

“Uh-huh. Ugh. It’s just, you get to like...okay, dragons have these _monster_ dicks, right….”

“You say that like it’s a fact,” Noctis says, grinning.

“It is if you play these games, dude,” Prompto says.

They stare at each other. Prompto sighs. “You totally want to watch one now, don’t you.”

“More like, I want to watch _you_ watch one.” Noctis settles back, hands behind his head. “C’mon, Prompto. Lemme see your monster porn.”

“I gave you one show tonight already, and now you want another one?” Prompto shakes his head. “Tch. Greedy. That’s what I get for fucking a king, I guess.”

“Right. Your liege demands it, so you’ve got no choice.” Noctis smiles at him. “Show me. Royal command.”

“As long as you don’t feel, y’know, _inadequate_ when you see it,” Prompto says, all wide-eyed innocence, as he reaches for his phone. “The things I do for you, dude.”

“Yeah,” Noctis says, as Prompto settles in beside him and turns on his phone. “I’m the worst.”

The game isn’t his thing, but Prompto definitely likes it. And Prompto wasn’t wrong about the dragon dick, either.

**Author's Note:**

> I sort of want to write another fic about that monster porn game where Prompto gets the high score, NGL. 
> 
> (That is brought to you by my dear beta, who when I said, "What sort of weird thing do you think Prompto is into?" she responded, without missing a beat, "monster porn." xDD)


End file.
